this is bloody business
by thefudge is grumpy
Summary: 8x14 fix-it. If you are in possession of an able-bodied demon, you don't let him go to waste (Bonnie routinely visits Kai). Two-parter.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: LISTEN. this is a beast, I know. How did it get so long? I blame my fucked-up childhood, idk! Anyway, this is only the first in a two-parter, so look out for the second part some time in the future. I should say, this is a fix-up combined with a fuck-up. It does get emotional at times because I'm a dumb bitch, but it gets preeetty weird too. Basically, this is very much out there, so it really depends on your threshold and how much you can stomach. I'd say this first part is pretty tame for my standards, but erm, I have fucked up standards so trigger warnings still apply for abuse and torture and blood kink (yes, this also means the second part will be a lot weirder and a lot smuttier, heh). Hope you enjoy, fam!_

 _P.S. if you find i mixed up some canonical elements from the past episodes, um, fuck'em? who cares about canon at this point? we've been riding this ship without canon's help since late 2014. here's to us._

* * *

i.

Biting tongue until blood  
I am sick with him. - _Drown_ , Golden Palominos

* * *

 _One, two, princes kneel before you_ _  
_ _That's what I said, now…_

The Spin Doctors are the only musical atrocity he hates more than Dave Matthews Band and that's because the latter still has that song about how the world is a pancake. What can he say, he's fond of food metaphors.

How she knows that this is the background noise he hates with a passion is a mystery. Is he such an open book? Is there no allure to him anymore? No enigma? Girls like enigma.

He almost feels flattered, amidst the ear-bleeding and cursing and chain-chaffing, that she took the time to find out what he loathes, what he fears, what he dreads.

But then he is back to screaming her name into the oblivion.

There's something round and finished about her name.

 _Bon-nie_. Infinite goodness ( _bon, bon, bon_ ), capsized at the end by a childish gurgle, an insouciant smile ( _nie, nie, nie_ ). Her name feels like a smirk, but not _his_ smirk. Her smirk. She makes you say her name, and it's a physical triumph.

* * *

"Bon-nie." That's exactly how he says it, expels it from his chest with a shudder as she looms over his chair, her heart-shaped face a cruel, blinding sun.

He's almost desiccated. He hasn't fed in… _fuck_ , ages, centuries, millennia, who can say at this point. The prison she and the brats built for him keeps him alive in his hunger, it won't let him die.

"Shh, I'm not here," she says, reaching forward with spidery fingers to push back a few sticky strands of hair.

Her voice sounds covert, clandestine, as if she knows this is a bad idea. As if she already regrets coming.

And he's been out of it for so long that his first instinct is to say sorry for smelling like a corpse.

It's only after she's gone that the latent rage washes over him.

She came to _gloat_ , no doubt, to see how her little pet is doing.

Later, though, as the Spin Doctors continue their hellish medley, he recalls her tone of voice and thinks maybe she can't help it. She's curious. He's a perverse exhibit. He is her museum of horrors.

Kai clenches his weakened fists. He hates how much he clings to this idea.

* * *

The second time he thinks he's dreaming because she's standing over him again, pressing a cool napkin to his forehead.

"You're burning up," she says in the motherly cadence of a school nurse. She cocks her head to the side, half-earnest. "I wonder what happens next."

She doesn't sound smug. She genuinely wants to know. How will Kai Parker decompose?

He tries to smile, to blink, to shrug, to do _anything_ to signal he's still putting up a fight, but he just sinks further down into his chair.

Bonnie walks behind him and he feels a sudden clinch in his muscles, a medieval vise licking at his tendons.

She's tightened the chains. It forces him to stand up. The effort almost makes him faint.

His head collapses in his chest and he can feel her closeness. She's standing inches away from him, her body shamelessly suffused with delicious blood.

The same spidery fingers tickle the back of his neck.

"Sit up. This isn't nap time."

Kai croaks a protest lodged deep in his throat. As if he could ever sleep. But her voice brooks no argument, so he punishes his body further and pulls his head up. His eyes are swimming in black holes. He can't focus on her.

"Do you know, I'll never see the man I love again?"

Her face is a stony mask of grief. _Great_. She's not only overflowing with yummy blood, she's vulnerable and _lonely_. God, if he just had an inch of his strength back, he could goad her, stir her up, manipulate her into making a mistake.

As it is, he can only think of her stupid dead boyfriend and try to mentally insult him.

He vaguely remembers Pretty Boy. A weak excuse for a vampire, if you ask him, and he's kind of new at this whole "fangs" thing. Enzime, or whatever his name was. He always looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"It's not your fault, for once," she laughs bitterly, stepping away from him. "But I guess I wish it were. Because then I could just hurt you forever and maybe I'd feel better."

Kai will later feel ashamed that he opens his mouth and whispers, when her back is already turned, "so hurt me."

He's just so terribly bored, so terribly _dead_. Won't she make him feel alive?

* * *

 _You marry him, your father will condone you_ _  
_ _How 'bout that, now_ _  
_ _You marry me, your father will disown you_ _  
_ _He'll eat his hat, now_

 _Ugh_. The song feels like an endless assault, a bare-knuckled slap right across the mouth, making his teeth clatter.

Or – _wait_.

That's – not –

Slap. Slap. _Slap_.

He feels his jaw shudder with the impact, the flesh curling in momentary pain. His nerves are shaken into action.

 _Slap. Slap. Slap._

Her hands are thin, but there is strength in her witch bones.

The blood drips down his chin like baby drool.

She slams her palm into his cheek, again and again and again.

His skin feels like it can set itself on fire with a match. Her hand must feel the same.

Kai can vaguely see her panting shape, but it's blurred by another withering blow.

He moans against the blood that fills up his mouth. He bites his own tongue.

 _Slap. Slap. Slap._

He lifts his chin to meet her hand by instinct. He's always liked her sadistic streak.

When she stabbed him in the leg that one time, he'd honestly contemplated sticking around to see what happens next.

It's just common sense.

If you anger someone so darn pious and good, you have to wait and see what comes out.

It's probably worth it.

Probably…

 _Slap. Slap. Slap._

He drinks up his own shallow blood, leaving room for more.

* * *

Kai thinks she will graduate from slaps to beatings or whippings or breaking fingers. There is a whole world of torture out there for her to discover. Anyone in her position would be tempted.

But she doesn't act on it.

Either she doesn't have the stomach for it, or she thinks this is good enough.

She pulls him up by the top of his hair, making his scalp tingle. Her fingers dig into his skull.

He feels feverish, like every breath he takes is contaminated.

She looks into his ashen face with a sad smile. "Still alive, huh?"

A superhuman effort compels him to nod.

"Good boy," she murmurs, letting him go.

 _Good boy_. He closes his eyes and he tries to forget who he is.

* * *

"Wake up. I've got something for you."

He flinches from the intrusion. He's almost catatonic now and he'd like to keep it that way. He's _this_ close to not hearing the _Spin Doctors_ anymore.

But he smells something that shoots a thousand electric volts straight into his brain.

The blood is fresh, newly broken.

Kai opens his eyes.

There's a mangled shape in his lap. Beyond the blood, he can smell rot.

"Go on. Drink up," Bonnie invites him with a smile.

There's a rat in his lap, dripping blood.

Kai wrinkles his nose, but it's only a surface revulsion. The hunger wins out. He dives down for it. The problem is, his chains pull him back. He cries out soundlessly. He tries again, to no effect. He can't reach the foul, delicious rodent. And the blood is wasting away at his feet, a terrible, _awful_ extravagance. He can't stand to watch it drip, drip, drip...

"Do you need help?"

Kai feels like crying. He nods his head in shame.

He can hear her smile in the way she walks towards him.

He thinks she will pick up the rat for him, but before he knows what's happening there's a sharp snap – a terrible _rip_ – and he's screaming like a tea kettle.

The pain is blinding.

She has pushed down both hands on his spine until his shoulder dislocated.

He wants to ask, _where did you learn that?_ But he can reach the rat now. That's all that matters.

His lips tentatively kiss the blood, tongue darting out shyly, lapping at the river of the gods. He falls into a feeding frenzy. His senses are frozen in suspension, the only thing that is real is this furry rodent.

He drinks it up, even swallows bits of flesh and bone and fur. He's an animal. His mouth is a grisly murder.

Bonnie watches him with arms folded.

When he's done, the rat is only wisps of fur. Everything else has been consumed.

Kai licks his lips. He wants to throw up.

Bonnie lifts her chin, considering him with disgust. "How was that?"

His head is woozy. He's experiencing a rush, always dangerous after you feed too fast.

He smiles and shows her bits of animal between his teeth. " _Heavenly_."

He's not even lying.

* * *

She feeds him a rat a month, or at least he thinks it's a month. He can't very well tell time, but he's certain _she_ can, and she probably can't disappear from her happy-go-lucky real world whenever she likes. Bonnie Bennett is not irresponsible. She probably saves the date in the calendar.

Rat Day, it must be called.

He's not in a position to complain. The regular meal barely keeps him going. He's recovered part of his strength, but he's still constantly hungry.

At least now he can string up a few sentences.

Which is why, when she shows up with his next meal, he greets her with a little fettered wave.

"My guardian angel," he mocks with a clumsy bow. He can't do much as he's tied up.

Bonnie frowns. She dumps the rat at his feet and lets the blood ooze out of the bag. Like leaving ice cream in the sun.

Kai feels a terrible whine building at the back of his throat.

"Who told you you can speak?"

"Bon-nie!" he yells after her, the smirk of her name. But it's no use. The rat is out of reach.

* * *

"Fuck. You."

He knows it's dumb. Very, _very_ dumb. She has the power to deprive him of his rat.

But he's sunk so low that sewer rodents are the only thing he can dream about anymore. Hell, he imagines their disgusting little paws falling into his mouth like candy. _She_ did that to him.

Bonnie purses her lips, although there's a funny glint in her eye. "Why the temper?"

Kai's throat is dry. He coughs up black bile. " _Why_? I don't know, look around you, _Bon_ , it's kind of – self-explanatory."

He's wheezing by the end of his sentence. Even that is too much of an effort for him. Fuck her.

"You don't like your prison, is that it?" she taunts, dangling the bloody bag in front of him. His mouth waters at the sight of rat entrails.

"You hate sitting in this bar, listening to the same song?" she continues, bringing the bag nearer to his nostrils.

"You hate your chains, you hate being helpless?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again, unable to reconcile his hunger with his anger.

"Answer me, Kai. Do you hate it here?"

He knows what is at stake. But he's got some pride left too. He won't give up that quickly.

"Answer me," she repeats and opens the bag. The smell is impossible to withstand, it assaults his synapses. His thoughts are boycotted.

"N-no," he rasps out, betrayed.

"I didn't think so," she replies with a small smile and dumps the bag in his lap.

Kai shuts his eyes in cold fury. He'll have to ask her for help again. She'll break his bones and then watch his deformed body struggle to eat a fucking rat.

 _Fuck_ her.

It takes all of his strength and even more to throw the bloody thing back at her feet.

Bonnie freezes in her step. There's muck on her jeans.

Her eyes scald him with their shock.

 _Good_. She didn't expect that.

He grins a desperate, hollow grin. "Your move."

Her soft, green eyes darken. She looks like an ancient Medusa whose snakes have abandoned her.

She rushes towards him foolishly, recklessly and she opens her palm.

 _Slap. Slap. Slap._

He's ready for her. His fangs come out before she has the time to retract. He may dream of rats now, but he's been dreaming about her before he was even born.

He sinks his teeth into the apple-sweetness of her palm.

"Aaah," she cries out.

And with this sound, something cracks in the stone between them. And blood pours out.

" _Aaaaah_ ," she moans as his mouth envelops her hand reverently, without guilt and sin.

He doesn't feel the taste of her blood, he doesn't know if it's sweet or sour. In this moment, hunger is a gate he's already pushed past. He has broken her skin and part of him is _inside_ her. His fangs scrape the intimate places that not even she can reach.

This knowledge alone feeds him on and on and on.

She yanks her hand away eventually, but not quick enough.

He knows it. _She_ knows it.

She let him feed for a few moments longer. She let him tear at her flesh. No one has ever wanted to destroy her so thoroughly before.

He was prepared to drain her in one gulp.

She's had plenty of enemies. Plenty of deaths too. But no one has been inside her membrane, in the space between blood and skin.

So, he should feel special.

He does.

He groans in pleasure as his head tilts back.

He doesn't see her run away.

* * *

The dread of hunger is now doubled by another dread. That he'll never get to taste her again.

* * *

But she comes back. Eventually. It seems like a small eternity.

He expects more rats. He's even ready to beg for them and say thank you.

He's almost ready to say thank you for nothing at all.

Instead –

She shoves her hand between his teeth.

Kai freezes, like a dog whose master is testing his obedience.

Bonnie is standing behind his chair. She's yanking on his hair possessively.

"Drink."

If this is a dream, he's going to cling to this motherfucker.

His fangs seek her out like a babe at a mother's breast and the analogy makes him shudder, but he surrenders himself to the sea of blood and to her.

He swims deep, but the bottom is empty and clear of secrets. She is not hiding a monster. Not really.

Despite her show of dominance, her blood tastes like magnolias swaying in the sun, kids on their bicycles, birds chirping in the branches, hot asphalt in the summer, newspapers lying on doorsteps, hysterical blue sky filled with fluffy, cotton candy clouds...

And fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ – he wants this more than anything.

Not the cheery suburban fauna, but the wholeness, the _fullness_ of her being, the uncrackable quality of her spirit, the way she skips in the sun and keeps him here in chains, both at the same time. Both, seamless. There are no two Bennetts. The same person can feed you rats and then fall on her back in the tall grass and let the blades kiss her.

He remembers the blades kissing her.

The way she fell when he planted the dagger in her stomach.

He can see her white teeth in the sun. Her lips parted in betrayal. He imagines kneeling before her, picking her up, saying _sorry_.

But then he imagines her laughter, strong and powerful. A flower of blood is spreading on her plaited shirt and she's laughing at _him_ and his regrets. She's laughing because she owns him.

She's hateful. She's every dreary summer afternoon in Portland. She's every twanging adolescent moment of his youth.

And he drinks more, sinking deeper in the sea of grass.

Bonnie tugs on his hair, holding his hunger in her grasp. She makes him pause in the middle of his meal and forces him to simply inhale the blood and torture himself as it streams down his face, before leading him on like a conductor.

At first he thinks she's simply teasing him, but he realizes by the way she jerks his hair and nudges him on that she's doing this unconsciously. Like a rhythmic dance.

His greed subsides and he can finally hear her moans. He's aware of her now.

Her " _aaah_ "s are like nails across his back. He shudders into the broken skin. His reaches out with his tongue and caresses the rip in her palm, swirls his tip over it without even drinking any blood.

She pulls her hand away immediately with a gasp.

"You should get a tetanus shot," he croaks, resentful and pleased at the same time. "My mouth's been everywhere."

* * *

Slap. Slap. Slap.

And then, _drink, drink, drink_.

Sometimes more slap, sometimes more drink.

He's learned to gauge her moods, but she likes to surprise him.

She'll slap him mid-drink and unhinge his jaw right when he's filled his mouth with her.

The blood escapes his lips, it dribbles down his front like a child, and he rushes to lick the remains. She slaps him again.

"Stop it, you're pathetic."

But it doesn't stop him. He _needs_ to lick every last drop that fell.

Bonnie wrinkles her nose. "Look at yourself."

He can't, but he can guess. He must look like a vagrant, dirt caked in the layers of his skin. But mostly he's red from her, unwashed, unclaimed, unforgiven.

She shakes her head. "Just look at yourself."

The humiliation runs through him like fire, but it does not prevent him from lowering his chin to lick the blood.

She slaps him again.

"You should be ashamed."

He wants to be. He's never regretted being limited in his range of feelings, but he wants to feel shame.

* * *

He likes the way she'll glide her ravaged hand across his nose and eyes and through his hair as she walks away from his chair. He rattles his chains in a strange impulse to follow that hand. Not to drink more, but just to linger in its shadow.

 _Fuck_ her.

* * *

She's a siren, a snake in the grass, because sometimes she still brings him rats.

Isn't she disgusted? Isn't she afraid? The abjection of rats and humans together, blood mingling, flesh assimilating. It turns his stomach.

And yet she maintains her purity. Never tarnished by the animal, never truly touched by the human.

He's a dog for her blood.

* * *

The first sign of change is that the _Spin Doctors_ have stopped playing. The bar is finally quiet.

She explains herself almost shyly.

"I can't hear myself think."

He doesn't fucking care at this point. Just feed him.

* * *

The second sign of kindness is that she tells him earnestly one day, as she's hovering over him with a craving for his teeth, "I can't breathe when I'm around you".

Kai blinks, eyes enlarged, caught off-guard. He trips against his tongue. "I…"

"It's cuz you smell so bad," she clarifies, waving her hand over her nose.

When he wakes up the next day, his fetters have been replaced by a single chain which wraps around his ankles. Kai sits for a long while in a stupor. He knows that if he attempts to rise from the chair, he'll fall down in a heap. He doesn't know if his feet still work. Gradually, he takes a few small steps, hanging onto the chair like a child learning to walk.

He discovers the length of the chain. It's exactly as long as the way to the bathroom. She's put a shower in the Grill. And it's stocked with soaps and shampoos.

Kai kneels on the bathroom floor and starts laughing manically. And then he cries.

Third time in his life he feels tears on his cheek.

* * *

He's sitting on the bar stool, drinking straight from the whiskey bottle, the alcohol dripping down his chin. He smells like soap. His skin is red from scrubbing. His hair is still wet. He's wearing a shirt and a long apron over it, the only items of clean clothing he could find. He can't manage pants over the manacles at his feet.

Bonnie scans him from head to toe.

"You can thank Josie and Liz for the shower."

He wipes his chin. "I thought child labor was illegal."

Bonnie ignores him and glances at the torture chair he's finally vacated.

"You realize…I'm not going back to that," he drawls moodily, affecting nonchalance.

But inside he's boiling. Blood rushes in his ears with adrenaline. She's just _standing_ there, so open for attack.

 _Why_ doesn't he just attack? Quick and fast and smooth, he could rip her throat out and watch her breath leave her chest. And it'd be _over_.

He'd be…well, _not_ free. He'd be stuck here forever with her corpse. Because only she can get him out.

Shit. She's thought of everything.

Bonnie smiles, having easily guessed his intentions.

"You can't hurt me, Kai. But you can get a drink, if you're well-behaved."

He narrows his eyes at her, but his anger can't ignore her very real invitation. It's far too tempting.

He doesn't want to play the good boy. But fuck if he can help it.

What about her, though? What is _she_ getting out of this?

An impish smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. "Who'd've thought Bonnie Bennett is a dominatrix."

Her nostrils flare.

"What did you say?"

* * *

"….please."

Bonnie arches her brow.

" _Please_ ," he says a little louder.

He's never really begged anyone, except her.

But this time it's rather delicate.

He's on his knees, groveling like a worm in the dirt. It's been several days since he's fed. He had grown used to his regular meals. Now his body is wracked with withdrawal.

She's standing just beyond the reach of his chain.

"If you want a sip you'll have to do better than that," she tells him, folding her arms.

He bends down until his elbows scrape the floor. He's crawling now, worse than an insect.

Bonnie watches him writhe on the floor. _She'll_ decide when it's enough.

It's not just about the blood and she knows it. It's _her_ blood in particular; he's become addicted to it.

He grits his teeth and looks up at her with a hint of the old madness in his eyes. He laughs a bitter, caustic laugh. "You're gonna let me do it eventually. You _need_ it as much as I do."

Bonnie cocks her head to the side.

"You know what? I think you're wearing too many clothes."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Kai swallows hard. He doesn't want to relinquish that last dignity.

"Take them off," she instructs coolly. She's a ripe blood-apple, standing _juuust_ out of his reach.

He yanks on his chain miserably.

" _Bon-nie_."

"Take them off now," she repeats archly.

He undresses slowly, sulkily, memories flooding his mind of the times when his father would force him to take a bath in freezing water. He'd watch his son's feeble body, his chicken flesh, his wobbly pubescent legs.

He grins to burn the memory away and winks at her instead. "Finally gonna get a look at my fine tush, huh?"

She watches him surreptitiously as the apron and shirt fall on the ground. He's wearing nothing underneath. His body is supple but worn, chewed out by the years which have left their weight there, despite their absence from his skin. A Peter Pan with mild osteoporosis.

Still, she can't deny he's handsome in a mean, malicious way. As if he's throwing his beauty at you, to see if it cuts.

She's not impervious.

"Full monty for the lady in the back," he croons mockingly, but she can see he's not fully comfortable with this level of intimacy.

She chews on her lip. "Have you ever been naked with a girl before?"

A look of surprise flashes in his eyes and leaves him naked in a different way.

She forces herself to stare at his cock without blushing. The triangle of soft hair between his legs is almost endearing.

Kai feels compelled to cover himself, but her eyes warn him not to.

"Get back on your knees and crawl to me."

He runs a hand down his arm, looking very much like the stage ingenue who is not ready for a big role.

His eyes narrow into slits as he glares at her. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"Crawl or starve."

He lowers himself in front of her. She can almost hear his raging thoughts.

 _When I get my hands on you..._

* * *

He's right about one thing, though. She needs this. As much as she hates his guts, there is no denying what these visits do to her, how much they matter. How much they satisfy.

She's been deprived of love, so she will use him to her heart's desire. If you are in possession of an able-bodied demon, you don't let him go to waste.

She doesn't understand it, though. She's been drunk from by vampires before. Why is this any different?

It shouldn't be, but it is.

The ending is always the same. She forces him to crawl to her, she humiliates him and yanks his chain, but invariably, he will arrive at the destination and she will be reckless and let him have her palm. Then her wrist, then her whole arm.

Until it happens one day and he manages to pull her in the orbit of the chain.

There is a split moment where he – Kai Parker – _hesitates_ and gives her the chance to step back, beyond his reach.

And she – she also hesitates before she tilts back her head, offering the branches of veins at her throat.

They look at each other, incredulous.

* * *

There is so much he wants to do to her he is frozen by the revolution in his head. Where to fucking _start_?

Oh, God, which limb to devour first? Which curve to break between his fingers? Which bones to crack?

The indecision makes him slow. He approaches her shyly and takes a gentle sip, the way you stand on tiptoe as a child to drink from a fountain. His tongue licks at her skin like a kitten.

Bonnie shudders in his arms, afraid of any accidental kindness, afraid of different sensations.

She looks him in the eye.

"You talk big, but you're just a scared little boy, aren't you?"

* * *

He slams her against the wall and the plaster crumbles with the strength of his force. Her skull feels a sharp crack, but she soon forgets the ache as his hand winds around her throat and squeezes hard.

"Oh, Bonnie-Boo, the things you make me want to do," he says in a sing-song voice, the same voice that would often haunt her dreams of 1994. There is comfort in familiarity, though. She struggles for breath, but…she doesn't really struggle.

When his fangs sink into her throat she grips his back and pulls him towards her.

* * *

They are both high on her blood, their limbs akimbo. He's got one hand in her hair, tearing it to shreds, while one of her knees is lodged in his ribs.

They're like the spokes of a wheel, forming an imperfect circle, as they hurdle down the dangerous path to perdition.

She's got teeth marks on her chin and he's got the mark of her heels on his chest.

The way he drinks from her is antagonistic, undomesticated. After so many rats, he tears at her flesh, leaving gaps that throb. She snarls in pain and pleasure, scratching at his face. He grips her chin between his fingers and smashes her skull against the wall, she thrusts her fingers into his eyes, he hisses and bites her cheek, their lips almost ghosting over each other before she spits into his mouth. Kai growls, enraged, but she slaps him and spits into his mouth again. He swallows her fluids and lunges for her mouth. The kiss is not really kiss, it is a hateful seizure that elevates them; they no longer feel pain when they hit each other, or when they bite their lips and clash their teeth. It is a consummation of the past, of what they've been through.

He sinks his fangs so deep he can taste the bone. Then he removes his mouth from the puncture and lets the blood fall down her shoulder, a crimson bounty spilling across her continent. He wraps a hand around her throat again and keeps her still against the wall as he watches it go to waste. His pulse skyrockets at the sight of her undoing, as her own pulse quiets and almost stills. They share a cosmic look of want.

She likes to die, she's always been sick like that, always ready to sacrifice herself for her friends and family because there's a spider-webbed corner of her mind that wants to be very close to the sun, until it burns. Icarus' got nothing on her. Magnolias and birds, bicycles and newspapers, there's always death lingering in the South, in these Virginian lands.

She's perfect for him, really. Boy wants to kill, girl wants to die.

* * *

Sometimes he'll try to siphon her and forget that her magic has suffered a lot of heartache since he last saw her. He almost grows angry when he finds her empty, angry at whatever fucking chumps got to her first. Was it Pretty Boy who stole her spark?

He doesn't ask about the real world. He doesn't try to escape. Not yet. He hasn't drunk his fill of her.

He does sit in the torture chair sometimes. He can't exactly say no when she's straddling him.

The first time she does it, she's clearly nervous, which he finds rather adorable. She pulls her legs on each side of him, shifting slightly to find her balance. Her movements are gauche, but then so is he because he's hard against her before she's had time to gather her bearings.

It's not just the fact that Bonnie Bennett is halfway to riding his dick, but rather that she's so obviously overwhelmed by their closeness. Her hands land awkwardly on his shoulders.

He runs his hand down her back to distract her.

"It's not like in the movies, _huh_? We'd need a kiln and some clay for that."

"Shut up."

He shakes his head with a smile. "So bossy."

It's kind of laughable that he chooses _this_ moment to remark upon it, when she's made him crawl naked.

Bonnie wriggles her butt back and forth, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable with their position, but determined to continue this experiment.

Kai grips her waist. "Unless you want to see some fireworks, you'd better _stop_ moving, sweetheart."

That's when she becomes fully aware his hardness against her thigh.

And she feels a little elated at knowing he wants her. You can never be sure with Kai. His desires are always mingled with violence.

She wriggles one more time against him.

"Don't be a tease," he grunts under his breath.

Bonnie parts her hair. "Here. Drink up."

* * *

When his fangs pop out of her throat, he squeezes her ass. She slaps his hands away.

" _What_? We're way past second base."

* * *

He's maddened by the fucked-up pace they're going at.

Neither fast nor slow. No debauchery, but no harnessing of innocence.

They're in murky territory now; sometimes she'll kiss him in the frenzy of feeding because the feeling overwhelms them both, but other times she'll slap his mouth away and refuse to touch him for weeks. Kai sometimes misses the good ol' days of uninterrupted hunger. When he was free of her.

* * *

He chases her like a hungry rat around the bar and she dodges him left and right, throwing bottles in her wake and smashing the glassware in his face. She even breaks a stool on his back. There's laughter in her eyes.

Kai doesn't seem to mind. He takes to destruction like a fish does to water.

He grins at her as he picks her up and throws her across several tables.

She lands on the floor with a thud and a bruise on her ass. She means to tell him to stop, that it's all fun and games until _she_ gets hurt, but Kai yanks her by her elbows and slams her down on the bar top, her face crushed into the sticky surface.

"Ow!"

His hand presses down on her skull, forcing her to stay supine. She gets a shiver down her spine as his hands lift up the back of her T-shirt. His long fingers trace patterns on her bare skin. She can feel his pelvic bones jutting against her hips.

"Are you afraid, Bon Bon?"

"No," she spits out, not sure whether she feels dread or thrill.

He bends over until his fangs graze the back of neck.

"Don't move now, or I might sever a nerve."

He sinks his teeth right above her spine and Bonnie screams.

* * *

She hasn't forgotten he's a psychopath, but she never truly believes, not until the last moment, that he will hurt her.

But he does.

And she always returns from it different.

She always returns from it new.

" _Aaah_."

Maybe it feels good because she's gotten used to him. Maybe nothing about this is real.

He licks and kisses the torn skin and whispers in her ear, "Good girl."

* * *

He's shifted the power dynamics and now she's at a loss. She wants to get back on the top. She wants to be in charge. She wants to feed him rats and watch him sink into despair.

But - _good girl_. It makes her head spin.

She lets him pin her hands above her head as he unbuttons the front of her shirt. Only the first two buttons, nothing more. He can see a shy fabric of white bra.

"Kai."

"Right here," he says, tracing the spot with his finger, leaving a warmth behind.

And he sinks his fangs between her breasts, staining her bra red.

He doesn't remove it. He doesn't have to. She grips his head at one point, pushing him into the folds of her beating heart.

* * *

"I don't get it," she pants as they break away before she's completely drained. "Why – why is it different with you? Why is it so – _so_."

She can't go on, she can't define this revolting thrill. Her throat is burning.

Surprisingly, he catches on without her having to explain. He licks his finger and smears it across the wound between her breasts, making her flinch. "Silly rabbit. I'm not _just_ a vampire. I'm always half magic. That's why I can get you off when others can't."

She rolls her eyes. "I was expecting you to say you're just _that_ good."

Kai's eyes light up with something like affection, or in any case, something he would posture as affection.

"Honey, I am _better_ ," he drawls with a dashing smile, sucking the remnants of her blood from his finger.

She quickly buttons back her shirt. "If only Enzo had been a witch too, he'd have been per–"

She stops dead in her tracks. Kai is watching her intently, the smile gone from his lips. Just like the blood.

"Go on."

She leaves in a rush.

* * *

One night she comes to him and she's slightly tipsy, which he finds hilarious because a) she can't hold her liquor and b) this is a bar. He pours them some scotch he's found under the counter.

"Remind me to stock this place better," Bonnie mumbles into her glass.

"What're you wearing a scarf for?" he questions as he sits down next to her.

One can almost say they're being civilized.

"Oh." She looks down. She seems to have forgotten it was there. She unravels it.

"Jesus, Bon. Your neck looks worse than a Cenobite."

"A what?"

He frowns. "From _Hellraiser_ , keep up."

"Never seen it."

" _You_ have never seen the 1987 horror classic about unrequited love?"

Bonnie scoffs. "I doubt it's really about that."

"Hey, most romantic film of _my_ teenage years."

"Forgive me if you're not a healthy scale for what is and isn't romantic."

(Later, Bonnie will google _Hellraiser_ and will be surprised and annoyed at how accurate Kai's description actually was.

And then she will read further and she won't know what to think.

 _"The blood resurrects Frank as a skinless corpse, who is soon found by Julia. Still obsessed with Frank, she agrees to harvest blood for him so that he can be fully restored, and they can run away together. Julia begins picking up men in bars and bringing them back to the house, where she murders them. Frank consumes their blood, regenerating his body. Frank explains to Julia that he had exhausted all sensory experiences and sought out the puzzle box, with the promise that it would open a portal to a realm of new carnal pleasures..."_

She will look up from her phone and watch the people in the street, going about their day as usual, and think she's the only thing standing in the way between them and Kai Parker)

For now, she looks down at herself and frowns. Both the neck and the chest are covered in red marks which, to an untrained eye, might look like hickies. Upon a closer inspection, though, they look too feral to be human.

"Here's something romantic for you," he says and slides his wrist into her lap.

"What?"

"My blood. You know, for your skin. So it doesn't look like Hugh Hefner's face anymore."

"Um…"

"Oh, come on. He was the founder of Playboy magazine and the hero of a generation –"

"I _know_ who he is," she grits, hitting him in the shoulder. "I'm not sure about the blood thing."

"What, afraid you'll grow attached?" he quips, tipping his glass back.

"I don't trust you."

"And yet you come here all inebriated and vulnerable. Have you _not_ read the safe sex pamphlets?" he teases with faux-concern.

"You…you're always up to something. Always plotting," she reminds him with a condemning look.

"Little old me? I'm frankly insulted. I could've escaped a dozen times already, Bon."

Bonnie draws herself up. "Then why haven't you?"

Kai fingers the rim of his glass, looking away. "I hear the economy's pretty bad right now. I don't even wanna talk about the president."

She narrows her eyes. " _Really_."

"Anyway, even if I could trick you, you'd hunt my ass down again. You're pretty OCD about it."

Bonnie chews on her lip. "Or maybe I'd just give up and let you go."

A cold draft passes between them, and when she glances sideways, his face is set in stone.

"Give _me_ up?" he says lightly, although she can hear the tendrils of danger behind his voice. "Pff, I'd like to see you try."

"Is that a challenge? Because I _could_ do it. I could leave you here to rot."

"You didn't, though," he reminds her quietly.

"You're just a distraction," she tells him, hanging her head down on the bar top. "You don't mean anything."

Kai smashes the glass against the counter.

Bonnie jumps in shock. This isn't their usual play-by-play. Their violence is supposed to be shared. Most of the time.

"Get the hell out then. Go back to the real world and pretend I'm not the highlight of your miserable existence. Face it, _Bonster_. You didn't even have a life before me."

Bonnie is too tired to feel the full extent of her outrage. She simmers, like a flame that's barely kindled. She wants to throw so many hurtful words in his face, but he'd probably beat her to it. Kai has never been good at hiding the callous pit inside his heart. This is his true, vicious self. The humor is gone, there is only the inheritance of evil on his face.

And he's right. He's right.

"No," she blurts out. " _No_."

She's miserable, she's always miserable out there, and _this_ is where she comes for comfort.

She grabs his shirt and pulls him into a drunken kiss to obliterate his words.

Kai grips her to him without warmth and caress. He is not gentle or funny or charming, he is a sinister child, a young boy without a future. A specter that pries open her mouth and injects bitterness down her throat. Their tongues clash to get away from each other, but they also seek each other out because without the presence of the other, they'd be lost.

There's no end in sight, really. If he wins, he also loses. If she wins, she also loses. They are inextricably linked.

He pulls away after a few moments, hands still locked around her waist, "you're too drunk for this."

"Then sober me up," she smiles absently into his face, her anger forgotten. She wants to forget everything.

* * *

He tears his wrist open.

She bends down and her lips blossom around his blood. Her tongue is dipped in wine-red as she looks up at him with a coy, glazed look. It might be inebriation. It might be affection.

Kai tilts his head back and closes his eyes, savoring the feel of her mouth on him. She drinks and suck and laps at his wrist like a true connoisseur. When you hang around vampires so much, you're bound to learn a thing or two. For example, she knows that you have to alternate your drinks for maximum effect. Long gulps must be fragmented by tender little sips. You must spit the blood back in his veins and then drag it towards you lazily. An exchange of fluids that propels you forward.

Enzo was always afraid of blood-sharing. She remembers this fondly, ruefully, resentfully. Why was he so afraid of her?

Kai groans, sinking one hand into her hair, guiding her head the way she used to guide his.

"Fuck, that's so good."

She pours some of that dead love into Kai's wrist. She doesn't know if he can feel it, but moments later she hears her name like a coda.

"Bon-nie."

She raises her blood-stained mouth and licks her lips.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Kai shudders, not opening his eyes. "Never."

She lowers her head.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: sooo, I gotta get my ass to bed but I'm finally done with this slice of fucked-up. Lots of thanks to all you lovely trash sisters who reviewed last chapter and prompted me to hurry up with the second part. Trigger warnings, I guess? Should I even say it at this point? I weirdly feel that, despite all the icky things I put them through, Bonkai are so pure. they're my bbies. So, they transcend trigger warnings, okay? #Bonkai5ever._

 _p.s. check out the playlist on 8tracks!_

* * *

ii.

 _The art of our necessities is strange,_

 _That can make vile things precious._

* * *

In the shower, the water is always cold, it always shreds the skin. It's possible to alter water. It's possible to pour enough bitter magic into it and turn it unsavory. But you'd have to be really damn _petty_.

He rinses his mouth. Each gulp is pulpy, full of tiny rocks and minerals, and he spits it down the drain. His throat is raw.

The water jet leaves red swatches across his back, even when he's being extra-careful.

Her claws, in another form.

Sometimes, he can almost feel her breath on his shoulder and he'll turn around and cup only air.

But he hears her voice, even when she is not there.

 _Look at yourself. Just look at yourself_ , she's saying in that sneering schoolmistress tone he abhors or adores. _You should be ashamed._

* * *

He is back in chains for this portion of their weekly dalliances.

He doesn't mind it that much – can't even feel the weight of them around his body - since Bonnie Bennett is sitting at the bar naked.

She's not doing anything particularly interesting; she's casually flipping through a school brochure. But she could be rapping Vanilla Ice lyrics and he would still not be able to take his eyes off her.

"Caroline is opening a school for witches. She wants me to teach a few classes… She says I have lots of patience and experience. I'm not so sure about that." She unfolds her legs and leans back against the counter. Her tits swell and fall on the page, like heavy fruit sagging from branches. It _would_ look obscene if she weren't so damn dignified.

Well, and really hot, but whatever. He's not about to lose this game.

"You and kids?" he muses, cocking his head to the side. "That's definitely not a good idea, and I actually killed a few, sooo."

Bonnie wrinkles her nose. "Her daughters happen to love me."

"You mean _Alaric's_ offspring? That's not really raising the bar."

"I wasn't asking your opinion anyway," she rolls her eyes and flicks the page across her nipples.

Kai clicks his jaw. "Yeah, you do. You want me to tell you you'll be a great teacher."

" _No_ ," she denies a little too firmly. "I'm only wondering if I could pass on my knowledge to someone else. I mean I _am_ the last Bennett…"

Kai can hear the underlying sadness in her tone, even while she's dressing it in detachment.

But he's not going to lend a sympathetic ear. He's going to shit on her dreams every time if it means he can kindle that ugly side of her which is his long-lost twin. Hell, he's part of the Gemini Coven, this is his birthright.

" _Tell_ me you didn't get naked just to talk pedagogy."

Bonnie leans forward, covering her supple curves with the arch of her arms. She frowns, resting her chin in her hand. "What are you talking about?"

Kai rolls his eyes. "You. You're posing for a nude, like that buxom redhead in the movie about the boat."

" _Titanic_?"

He makes a gagging noise. "Don't remind me. Luke had me watch that piece of fluff when he was in my body. His _favorite_ movie, apparently. I bet the rest of the gay community shunned him."

Bonnie twists around in the chair, giving him a wide view of her naked back. He feels like a dog with a gourmet bone that's only inches away.

"You talk like a grandpa. It's really offensive, you know."

"How is it offensive to mock a James Cameron movie? They guy's not really a thing anymore, is he? Oh God, please don't tell me he is."

"Well, uh, actually…"

"No," he shakes his head. "Don't change the subject. Why are you naked?"

She blinks, almost startled. "Are you serious? I'm fully dressed."

"Right, and I am _not_ actually chained."

"You're crazy. I'm wearing a dress, see?" and she ruffles an invisible skirt, gliding her fingers across her naked thighs.

Kai feels a crick at the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not blind. The school nurse said I had 20/20 vision. Sure…that was 20 years ago but…"

Bonnie slips down from the stool, her petite figure undulating like the smooth spine of a harp, and he doesn't know why he thinks _harps_ of all things, maybe because he can still hear music in his head, maybe he's been down here too long…

But she's clearly naked.

Isn't she?

Bonnie twirls in front of him, an hourglass without sand. Her flesh is firm, battered without bruises, thick without weights. She could possibly fly.

He remembers thinking she was an angel. Yeah, okay, that sounds dumb as shit, but when she first showed up in his Mystic Falls prison, she was wearing a soft pearly camisole and a dusty jacket, like she'd been on the road for ages, and her hair was cut short and wholesome, as if whoever had sunk the scissors into her locks couldn't make the blades work. She had pink nails, pared down to the bone, childish and nimble. She constantly stuck her upper lip forward, a mission girl on a magical quest. An angel who had finally come for his soul.

Because he had tried everything, even praying to some god – _any_ god – to rescue him from his confinement. And maybe god had sent him a sweet little archangel, a dark-skinned Bjork who would lie down with his crimes and release him.

And she _does_ – look in some way like an angel. She's got a diffuse quality, her fragments break up in the air like bad chemistry, she's got track lights under her arms, like the way cars speed at night and when you take a photo you only see blazing zigzags. She's zigzag, wry, lucent but because she shines _you_ have to bear the brunt of darkness. She's that one flickering streetlight and you're the son-of-a-bitch in the shadows.

"God," she rolls her eyes, "here, you can touch the fabric, you weirdo."

She walks towards him in her imaginary dress and she stops only when her knee collides with his legs. She opens a pathway between them and she steps in between and her entrance leaves him slightly dizzy. She offers her bare thigh for recognition.

It's difficult to move in his chains, and he's quite close to spraining a wrist, but he manages to brush his fingers briefly against her hip.

"Mmm, cotton," he drawls, eyes gliding over the gentle slope of her belly. And if he travels further, he finds a dark memory, a petal of puckered skin under her breasts, left there by his knife.

He shudders, because _shit_ – his cock is straining in his pants.

"No, it's velour," Bonnie corrects calmly. "You honestly can't _see_ it?"

The image seems to glitch before his eyes. He _can_ picture the dress. It's dark pink, something you wear for a special occasion. Something that reminds him of the pigs on the farm where his dad would take him to watch the slaughter.

"Do you have a hot date or something?"

Bonnie brushes the invisible wrinkles on her invisible dress. "Caroline is throwing a party for the school opening."

"Ah. Hoping you'll meet someone?"

He wants to rest his head between her thighs but he's not _that_ pathetic.

"No. Unless you count parents of potential alumni as a great dating pool."

Kai rattles in his chains. "You're _not_ going to a parents meet-up naked."

Bonnie scowls. " _Stop_ saying that. It's not funny."

"It wasn't funny when the emperor did it either," he remarks. Who'd written that story anyway? He forgets. He's hungry.

"You're starting to see things," she shakes her head. "I guess it makes sense, given all your time spent here."

He wants to bite her face, to sink his teeth right under her eye. But he smirks instead. "You're trying to make me sound crazy, but it won't work."

"Oh, I don't know, you already sound delirious…" she trails off, her fingers grazing his jaw.

Kai sucks in a breath.

She lifts his chin.

Her breasts probably taste like apple pie or some other wholesome fragrance in the American family arsenal. And they're right there, level with his mouth and his teeth. It's really unfair to deny him this meal. Well, who _doesn't_ want to eat breasts for breakfast, lunch and dinner?

"Say it," she murmurs softly. "Say my dress looks lovely."

Kai grits his teeth. "Na-ah."

"If you do, maybe…you can come a bit closer." Her fingers tickle his stubble.

Kai wars with himself. He's been humiliated in all unholy ways, but his mind has been left intact.

Well, what's another piece to his jailor?

"Say it."

His chains glide against her thighs.

"Your dress looks lovely, Bonnie."

She smiles, slapping his face away. "I'm naked, you moron."

And she walks away, a zigzag of light.

* * *

The walls vanish one day. They're just _gone_. The bar has collapsed, its environs dismantled. Like on the set of some popular 80s sitcom, where at the end of each season they take down the family living room. He is one dot of organic life in the middle of darkness.

Everything around him is a smooth black plain. He walks on solid ground but there's nothing solid around him. He's in a womb, but there's no heartbeat.

He's alone in this black square.

He opens his mouth to scream, but he can't hear himself. And does he really want to do this? Does he want to scream? Or is it some vestigial instinct, from when he was too young to remember?

He lies down and holds his knees to his mouth, like a fetus.

(He won't say it, won't admit it to himself, but as he lies there, he yearns for something. He wants her to hold him. He'd cling to her like Kate Winslet hogged that raft in _Titanic_. He'd hold onto her with every finger. Because this empty dark is not his friend.

Yeah, he'd hold her.

And then he'd choke her fucking throat.)

* * *

"I was teaching the twins about matter manipulation and I got curious. I mean, very few witches have experimented on prison worlds before." She tells him this in a proud, clean voice. No hard feelings. He's her guinea pig, he understands.

"You realize," he drawls disaffectedly, "you could've turned me into goo."

"That was part of the incentive, really," she jokes absently, tracing the glass of liquor with her nail.

Kai chews on his own cheek. He is leaning against the wall. He wants to feel its solid back against his spine. Yeah, prison worlds are all the same, but he likes walls, he likes for things to have the appearance of _real_.

"Careful, Bon. You're becoming a real sadist."

Bonnie glances up at him behind her lashes. It's almost coy. "You think so?"

* * *

The poker's end is sizzling. It's red – the red of corn syrup and field poppies. A red that _pops_.

It's a matter of pride that he will sit still and not make a sound. That's what he tells himself anyway. The chains won't allow him to go far, but he can retain some dignity.

The funny thing - the really fucked up thing, actually – is that none of this is done with animosity.

Because everything goes in the prison world. Everything is allowed. He has taught her that. And Bonnie is a quick study.

So she's not doing this to punish him. Not really. She's just… _shucks_ , she's just doing what she wants, for once.

 _B-Bonnie_ , his mind blubbers, but his teeth bite down on his tongue. The hot poker is awfully close now and he knows that even if his skin heals this will fucking hurt.

And he's okay with pain as long as someone else is suffering.

Bonnie gazes at his bare chest for a few moments, judging her canvas. His stomach churns as her eyes linger at the swoop of his hips where his jeans drag down. He'd make a smarmy joke. _Like what you see?_ But the truth is he's still a kid deep down, a forty year-old kid who never got the hang of things. And desire and pain are not that different after all and he never got the chance to draw the line.

She is very near now, he can feel the heat of the poker.

He closes his eyes, determined not to scream. Because she will be disappointed, won't she?

He almost jumps when her fingers skate across his abdomen.

"Baby-smooth," she muses.

And he knows what she's thinking. She's still got a scar from him. An ugly little souvenir. It still gets him hard sometimes, thinking of that scar. Honest to God, he'd do it again.

If you were to ask him – "would you still stab her, after everything?"

Holy fuck, yes.

"I'd still do it," he murmurs softly, staring down at her heart-shaped face.

And she might know what he means, because she's always right behind him, a faithful shadow.

When the scorching metal makes contact it's incandescent. It's fireworks.

Bonnie's face is lit up from within and he's never screamed harder in his life.

* * *

Every shower hurts. He's like a dog with rabies. He can't stand water. It hurts so fucking bad, and it hurts everywhere. The mark pulses like a second heart. She must've used some magic, because the skin doesn't heal right away. Or maybe his body refuses to conceal her violence.

He tries to touch it, but it hurts even worse.

His body is not his own.

* * *

" _Lorenzo_ would need smelling salts," he mocks on the hundredth-something day since he's lived in her pocket.

"He wouldn't love you anymore, that's for sure," he continues leisurely, dangling his feet from the bar. "I mean, he'd never guess you were this….vicious. But I knew. I've always known you're a little freak." His smile is smug, defiant, but a little contemplative too – like, how is it that these anomalies hide in beautiful, sylphid bodies?

"I'm not a freak," she mutters, relinquishing her purse. "You're lucky I don't do worse."

"Uuu, I'm shivering in my boots."

Bonnie rolls her eyes. She approaches him almost amiably, and she pokes him right between the ribs.

Kai's face twists as ripples of pain shoot out of the raw wound.

His throat burns. He almost loses his balance. But fuck if he'll fall down at her feet one more time. He reaches out instead and he pokes her back. He knows the place by heart. He can still feel the knife going in, the way he cut into her like hot bread. His finger touches the raised skin under her shirt.

They're both fingering each other's scars.

And for a moment they contemplate destruction.

But in the next, he's dragging her neck forward with sharp talons, and their teeth knock together, lips peeled back, like hyenas. He yanks her on top of him and squeezes her ass and sinks his nails into her thighs and rakes her flesh like he wants to kill her with his bare hands. And well, there's no "like he wants". He does. Certainly, when it comes to her, life and death have always been homonyms. He can't contemplate her without violence. _Oh, God, the things I want to do to you…_

Sure you'd say – typical psychopath. And you'd be wrong.

Because he knew - from the first moment he made her skin prickle with sweat and fear – that she's as addicted to this fucking savagery as he is.

Bonnie can't ever be his victim, not really.

Because she's always willing.

And boy, that's like finding a soulmate, isn't it?

She sinks down on his cock slowly, and there's no air between her lips. Her mouth parts in surprise, but there's no oxygen. Because she _has_ thought about it many times but it never felt like this in her nightmares. It never felt so damn still. Like she's about to turn to stone.

Kai's thumbs press into the hollows under her waist. They're called…the dimples of Venus. She remembers that from a girly magazine. She used to read it with Elena. If you had the dimples, it meant you were desirable.

"Move for me, Bon Bon," Kai moans, clutching her hips.

 _Move for me._

She does. She rolls her hips forward, feels him shift underneath her. She rolls her hips back and listens to him hiss.

And she doesn't go any faster than that. Ever.

Kai calls her a devious cunt and a mean bitch and he even puts his hands around her throat and tells her to _fuck him_.

"Just fucking fuck me, you little cunt or I'll fucking choke you, fuck me Bonnie, just _God_ – don't make me - don't make me -"

He squeezes her throat so hard, she sees stars.

But she keeps it slow, slow, _slow_.

He's in agony, flopping like a dead fish, grinding against her.

* * *

They both come after what seems like hours of death.

(Shit-shit-shit-god-you-fucking-demon-you-fucking-harpy / they can't tell who says what)

* * *

She likes to infect his wounds.

She drinks straight from the burn.

She steps into the shower with him, and before Kai can acclimate with her hunger, she's on her knees in the cold water, and she's got her mouth on the burning flesh. The poker mark is still, at this point, raw. It will always be raw.

The little freak bares her teeth. She rips into the ugly bruise. She makes it bleed anew.

Kai slams his head against the tiles as she drinks his blood.

He fists one hand in her hair.

Thick, creamy jets trickle down her breasts.

With her cherry mouth soaked in blood, she looks down distracted. She didn't even notice his cock, spilling seed on her skin.

He didn't either.

* * *

He's like a Jack-in-the-box. It's not just the walls now. It's the space. She's getting better at this. He can hardly stand up, but he can't lie down. She's shrunk his prison to the size of a box.

He presses his hands against the solid dark. He's got a crick in his neck.

He's stuck like a cockroach between folds of ancient dust.

Kai knows that she will never let him die, not while she can do this.

* * *

"You were right before," she tells him, as she strokes his face with the strings of the popper. "You do mean something to me. You're important."

The whip falls gently against his Adam's apple.

"You're the highlight of my day," she murmurs.

He can tell she's lying – or rather, he _can't_. That's the real torture. She's whispering these soft, pretty things that sound so real, and he wants to stopper his ears but they're making his head spin, they're making his mouth wet.

"I could never give you up," she says, taunting him, but maybe issuing a confession? Is she just rattling him, or is she telling the truth? You can never damn tell with her.

Perhaps she knows that this is what really fucking does him in. The thing most normal people get to have, which he never did.

"You're important to me," she repeats, as she flicks the whip against his face.

"I need you," she adds softly, and he groans so bad, like he's five again and his mom just told him the only thing he's good for is siphoning - taking someone else's life.

* * *

He spells his name on her cunt. As his tongue swirls around her clit, his fangs prick her folds and leave a tattoo behind.

It's a message for her and anyone else who might dine here – she is mine.

* * *

Well, he doesn't need a tattoo. She is his because she didn't die when he killed her. And he is hers because he didn't die when she killed him. What other proof of possession could there be? Is there anything more symmetric, more gosh-darn _commensurate_ than two bodies that survived each other's massacre?

But they're still trying.

That's the thing with them. They're persistent, like rats in the midst of a plague.

* * *

(She still gives him a rat sometimes, to remind him of their origins.)

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks him.

"Never," he grins with filthy rodents in his teeth.


End file.
